Imaginary Friend
by kcbs
Summary: Songfic to Chantal Kreviazuk's song Imaginary Friend. Mac reminisces about his long lost imaginary friend. not exactly sure if genre is right


Hi all! This is my first posted fanfic, so you have to review! Oh, and by the way, this was done in like a half an hour, so it probably sucks. But review anyway!

Disclaimer: Yes, I own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and Chantal Kreviazuk's song "Imaginary Friend". ("really?") No, I was being sarcastic. I meant I don't own them.

It had been ten years. Ten long years since Mac had last seen his imaginary friend. Ten years since he'd moved to a completely different city and state, and had forgotten about his friend.

_It scares me to speak my mind_

_It might sound self-absorbed_

Mac had always been pretty quiet, but when he'd moved he'd transformed into an entirely new level of quietness and loneliness. He was always afraid that if he said what was on his mind, people would label him and say things about him. It was so much easier to just stay quiet.

_I don't say half of what I think_

_I wonder what I'm thinking for_

If Mac even said half of what he thought, people would be freaked since he usually said nothing at all. He didn't even know the point of thinking and living; his whole life was going to school, coming home, sleeping, and then coming to school again.

_I'm smelling dead flowers, and listening to the walls again_

_I'm drinking from a leaky faucet and writing with this dried up pen_

Mac's existence consisted of getting second best of everything. Maybe he was being superficial by complaining because he never got what he wanted, but it didn't really matter at this point. His only friends were echoes of a lost past and his only companion was his own shadow.

_Wish I still had my imaginary friend_

Mac knew he was eighteen years old and shouldn't be wishing for his imaginary friend, but he didn't really care. He wished he had his imaginary friend. His best friend, and only friend in the whole world that he'd ever had.

_And who needs to listen, well_

_What do I have to sell_

No one needed to listen to Mac. There was no point to pay attention to whatever ideas that Mac had, because, well, Mac didn't have any ideas to listen to. Not since he'd had to leave _him_…

_Everyone's just waiting for their own turn_

_Kinda like show and tell_

People were so selfish. Everyone only cared about themselves. No one gave a crap about Mac's problems. People just wanted to show off their good qualities and make people adore them, but they didn't care about the others.

_I'm smelling dead flowers, and listening to the walls again_

_I'm drinking from a leaky faucet and writing with this dried up pen_

Mac had listened to his own voice echoing off the walls too many times to even care anymore. He had no emotion whatsoever.

_Wish I still had my imaginary friend _

_Wish I still had my imaginary friend_

And when Mac had said that he wished for _him, _his mom had reprimanded him. His mom had gone into a long speech about how Mac was too old to be wanting his imaginary friend anymore. But how Mac wished it!

_Someone to listen, someone to laugh_

Mac's friend would always know when to listen, and how to have fun. His imaginary friend would laugh at just the right times, lifting Mac from any sadness he'd ever been feeling.

_Someone to cry at the right times_

And he knew when to cry too. Mac would always remember how his imaginary friend would cry when Mac had ever been beaten up by his brother back when Mac was like five years old.

_I'm smelling dead flowers, and listening the walls again_

_I'm drinking from a leaky faucet and writing with this dried up pen_

_You know I'm smelling dead flowers, and listening to walls…_

_Drinking from a leaky faucet and writing with this dried up pen_

Life was definitely like drinking from a leaky faucet for Mac. You can only get the tiniest drop of water from a leaky faucet, and the rest will just seep out and onto the floor. It was like Mac was getting the smallest drop of life while the rest trickled onto the floor, only to be stepped on and dirtied by dust and bacteria.

_Wish I still had my imaginary friend_

_Wish I still had my imaginary friend_

And Mac would always wish, always desire his imaginary friend.

_And I would call him up_

_But I don't remember his name_

And Mac would have found him, found his imaginary friend. He'd have called him, discovered where he'd been adopted. Mac would've, seriously!

Except Mac couldn't remember his name.

Okay, folks, this just popped into my head all of a sudden when I found my Chantal Kreviazuk CD that had this song on it. Thanks for reading, and I'd really appreciate it if you reviewed please! I guess you don't have to, but I really wish you would. does puppy dog pout Pwease?


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